Lose More, Win More
by thatssomecatch
Summary: AU. Quinn is a cross-country/track star at McKinley High. Rachel is from a nearby rival school and bursts into the sport during Quinn's junior year at the worst possible time.
1. Chapter 1

"Quinn, you're the two-time champion. You have the course record. You got this."  
>"Quinn, this is all yours. Just go out and take it!"<br>"Just relax, honey. Get to the front, settle in, and do your thing."  
>"Q-Baby lets GOOOO! Get the three-peat!"<br>"Nobody is stopping you today, Quinn. No-one is as fit as you are. Nobody trained as hard as you did. You already have this."  
>"Run like the wind, baby girl!"<p>

All of the pep-talks, shouts of encouragement and slaps on the back started to run together. The only thing I could focus on was the slow ticking of my watch as I impatiently waited for noon to arrive. I kept glancing up at the huge timer by the starting line to make sure it wasn't malfunctioning. I was sure the race had to be closer than 20 minutes away. I was warmed up, hydrated and ready. I just needed to get on the line before I lost my nerve.

On paper, I knew I was the best. I knew the cross-country course like the back of my hand. I had won states as a freshman, then came back sophomore year not only to win it again but also to break the twenty-year-old course record. I was fit and ready.

I knew all of this, yet for the first time I was going into a State Championship race with fear rather than excitement. With each win over the last two years, the target on my back had grown bigger. I couldn't pinpoint exactly when the change occurred, but sometime over the last year or so I started looking back and worrying about the runners behind me instead of chasing the records in front of me. Even though I had trained harder than ever that season, I was barely hitting my times from previous years. My rivals were getting a little too close for comfort.

I had to get it done this race. This was my junior year, the year that college coaches start paying attention. This was the year that would make or break my chances of continuing my career past high school. I wasn't the freshman phenom anymore, shocking Ohio with young talent and miraculous victories. No, I was a junior now. People expected me to win. My coaches expected it. My parents expected it. My teammates expected it. Whoever makes those dumb announcements over the loudspeaker at school expected it. I had to win.

"Varisty Girls, five minutes to the gun!"

I snapped out of my train of thought and jogged down to the starting line with my team. The waiting was finally over. That was the worst of it. This part, I could do. Everything from here was completely routine. Five stride-outs, team cheer, strip down to my uniform, do a few last minute stretches and toe the line.

"One-minute!"

As I took my place on the line, I quickly glanced left and right at my competition, reminding myself that I was better than all of them. There was that girl from Western Ohio who was kind of good and a couple girls from Columbus who occasionally made me work a little bit but nobody else could even touch me.

"Runners, to your mark!"

My heart was pounding, my left hand was shaking every few seconds and my stomach was knotted beyond belief, but I was ready. Five thousand meters. 3.1 miles. It was my time to shine.

"Bang!"

As soon as the gun sounded I sprinted to the front, not wasting any time in asserting my intention to win. I settled into my pace with a few other girls who were brave enough to start out with me. The first mile went by smoothly. 5:40, right on target. Not too fast, not too slow. I still had five or so girls hanging with me, but the second mile always sent them fading to the back. I started to push the pace and sure enough, by the time mile marker two came around, I was running alone. All I had to do was finish strong and I would have a third state title under my belt. Even more than the state title, I couldn't wait for the relief that would come with the win.

I knew I was close to the finish, with maybe 600 meters to go. I could feel my heart racing, my breathing was labored and I felt fire running up and down my legs. I didn't care about the pain. Up one more hill and around one more turn and I would be able to see the finish line.

I was so consumed with finishing that I didn't even realize someone was catching up until a tiny pair of legs attached to horrifyingly pink racing spikes were matching me stride for stride. I nearly had a heart attack on the spot, but thankfully my racing instincts kicked in. I picked up the pace and started my finishing kick, hoping to drop her, but every move I made she matched with one of her own. I knew I was approaching my limit. Nobody had pushed me like this in a long time. I didn't even know how fast I was running anymore because I couldn't feel my legs underneath me. The crowd along the finishing straight was roaring. It all blended into one wall of noise. We were 200 meters from the finish. Dead even. 100 meters - she gained a half step on me. 50 meters - a full step. 10 meters out - I threw in one last ditch lean, but it was over. I had lost. A nobody who I had never seen or even heard of before had beaten me.

I staggered through the finishing chute, exhausted, delirious, and dehydrated. Before the heartbreak of the loss had time to set in, the only thought running through my head was "who the hell was that?"


	2. Chapter 2

"Honey, it's okay. You just had an off day," my mother said, throwing a hand over my shoulder and guiding me away from the chaos of the finishing chute.

"More like an off season. What was my time?" I asked, not sure if I really wanted to know the answer.

"I think it was around 17:30 or so," she replied with a slightly pained expression. She knew that was going to upset me.

"Are you serious? That's nearly thirty seconds slower than my time from last year!"

I heard her mumble a few more words of reassurance but I was too busy trying to keep my emotions in check to even pay attention. I felt my throat start to tighten and the familiar burn around my eyes and I knew that if I didn't get it together soon I was going to be a sobbing mess for the rest of the day. I have always had a quick tear reflex, but over the years I learned how to control it. I wanted things too much, especially things that I worked for. When I was little, I would cry at the drop of a hat. Anytime I was upset, I was overcome by waves of uncontrollable tears. Anything said to comfort me just made me cry that much harder. By sixteen, I had long learned to control it. If I caught it early, I could usually talk myself down and no-one would ever have to see that I was hurting.

I got it together and reluctantly started looking for my coach and teammates. The last thing I wanted to do was go back and face everyone that I had disappointed but I knew that if I hid from the world to lick my wounds, there would be hell to pay at practice on Monday. But more than that, I needed to find out who that girl was. I had been too exhausted at the finish to even make note of her school uniform.

"Fabray!" I quickly turned at the familiar screech of Coach Sylvester. She was looking at me with an expression torn between disappointment and sympathy. It looked like she was trying to decide whether to yell at me now or save it for later.

"What happened out there, Fabray?" she asked, slightly softer than I was expecting.

"I don't know, Coach. I didn't even hear her coming until she was running right next to me!" I sighed, casting my eyes downward in shame.

"I know, she's tiny and has a soft stride. Best running form I've seen in a long time. Ridiculous shoes, though. But she did win, so I guess she can wear whatever she wants."

"Who is she, anyways?'

"Rachel Berry, sophomore from West Lima High. They plucked her right off the soccer field a couple weeks ago. I just talked to the West Lima coach, they weren't even sure if she was going to be eligible up until a few days ago." A silence fell between us as I took in the new information. A soccer player from the next town over who probably didn't even know what cross-country was until a few weeks ago? It didn't make sense or seem fair to me.

"What about the team scores?" I asked, still trying to keep my voice from shaking too much.

"They're not in yet. Actually, I'm going to go harass the timing squad a little more right now. See if you can round up the rest of the team and go for a cool-down run."

As I watched Coach Sylvester stalk off towards the timing booth I saw that girl - Berry - off in the distance talking to some reporter from the local paper. Some reporter that should have been talking to me if Berry hadn't bounced in and stolen the title. It still didn't seem fair. This girl didn't even know what it meant to win this race. She hadn't spent the summer getting up at the crack of dawn to run countless miles before the heat of the day set in. She didn't have hundreds of eyes watching her every move, outwardly supporting her but secretly betting on when she would fail.

The poor reporter could barely keep up with what she was saying. The girl looked like she was talking a mile a minute. She had a huge, irritating smile on her face that seemed to reach past her eyes. Those eyes were bright and naive and full of wonder. She was gesticulating wildly and pointing out different parts of the course, clearly giving the reporter a play-by-play of the entire race. She was glowing. Someone could have thrown a slushie in her face and I think she would have thanked them for the hydration. There was an innocent sparkle about her, like she couldn't believe what was happening and didn't fully understand it but was loving every minute of it. She looked exactly the way I did after my first big win.

I didn't realize how long I had been staring at the pair of them until they started waving at me. Berry held up a finger to the reporter as if to say "one minute", and to my horror started jogging in my direction. I didn't know what to do. I wasn't ready for Rachel Berry to be real yet, at least in my own head. Meeting her in person would definitely make her and my failure one hundred percent real.

"Hi! I'm Rachel Berry! I just wanted to say thanks for making it a great race. After the win today, my coach convinced me to do track this year too so we will definitely be seeing a lot more of each other!"

Before I could even process the fact that I would have to deal with this girl during track season as well, she was tackling me in a surprise hug. At first I just stood there awkwardly hoping that she would let go, but she just kept hugging me. She was babbling semi-coherently into my neck about how the cross-country coach at West Lima noticed how much endurance she had on the soccer field and convinced her to try out running. I could barely stand to listen but I couldn't break away either. I found myself slowly melting into her embrace. In the short time since the race had ended everybody had been trying to find the right words to make me feel better. After a heartbreak like that, all I really needed was a hug - even from Rachel Berry.

While her voice was a little too harsh and rather annoying moments before, muffled into the side of my neck it took on a soothing quality. I lost track of her words but her tone slowly began to ease the panic in my veins. I felt my heart rate descend to a reasonable level for the first time since I crossed that finish line. She felt so tiny in my arms. I remembered when I was that tiny. Running is so easy when you're fourteen years old and one-hundred pounds dripping wet. It's like floating. You're faster than all the older girls and you don't know why but you don't question it. You're fearless. You don't think, you just run.

I stood there hugging the girl who single-handedly brought my entire world crashing down that day and tried with everything I had to hate her. All I could think about was that nobody had hugged me like that in years.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Without giving too much away, I should give a trigger warning for this chapter and future chapters. Also, thanks for the reviews!**

* * *

><p>I had two choices that night. I could have gone to Santana's post-race party and faced all of the teammates I had let down that day. Or, I could have gone home and faced my father who would have meticulously analyzed every moment of the race to figure out where I went wrong. Both sounded like slow-burning torture. Instead, I decided to lie and do neither.<p>

After gritting my teeth and pretending to smile during the awards ceremony, I reluctantly made my way over to my parents. They were both sitting on the gym bleachers with utterly blank expressions on their faces. It was always like that after a bad race. They didn't get angry or make a scene like those crazed parents on TV shows. No, what they did was much worse. They stared right through me, saying nothing. They made polite conversation with the other parents and coaches and then left to go home as quickly as possible. When I won, I was the golden child. They bragged about me and acted as if I was destined for the Olympics. When I lost, it was as if I didn't even exist.

I actually had to clear my throat to get my mother to realize I wanted to speak to her.

"Mom, I'm going over to Santana's tonight for her post-race party."

My father rolled his eyes and interjected, "Didn't McKinley place fourth in the team score? Is that really something to celebrate?'

"Russ, I'm sure she planned the party in advance before knowing how the team was going to do. It's okay Quinn, you can go. Just make sure to stay away from the chips and cookies. You're not fourteen anymore, and you know how easily you put on weight," my mother replied.

"Sure, Mom. I'll see you later at home."

I was pretty accustomed to my mom reminding me to watch my weight by then. She had always been relatively obsessed with beauty and body image. However, lately the reminders were getting more and more frequent, each one more irritating than the last. Every time she told me to skip the ice cream or the second helping it reminded me that I _did _look and feel different than two years ago when winning came so effortlessly. I hadn't gotten on the scale in a very long time and was starting to fear what I might see. But I would deal with that later.

For the moment, I just needed to get away from the world. I wasn't going to Santana's house like I told my parents and I most certainly wasn't going home, so I found myself driving aimlessly around Lima trying to figure out what to do. Anywhere I thought about going held the possibility of running into someone I knew, and seeing anyone was completely out of the question. My emotional state was a house of cards and I knew that one more "you'll get her next time" or "you still have Regionals and Nationals" would send it toppling down.

Eventually I had been driving for so long and with so little regard for where I was going that I had absolutely no idea where I was. I pulled into the nearest parking lot to check the GPS on my phone. Having somewhat cleared my head by that point, I decided to head home. As I was pulling out, I glanced at the sign on the building in front of me and realized I was at the Lima Community Theatre. In big, bold letters read "Come see Lima Theatre's production of West Side Story. Tonight! 8 pm."

I smiled to myself for the first time all day as I realized that I had stumbled into the one spot in Lima where nobody would ever find me. I could go buy a ticket, sit alone, and laugh at the actor-wannabees botching the play. I couldn't think of a better way to escape my life for a few hours.

The production was perfectly awful but incredibly therapeutic. The acting was cringe-worthy, the singing almost is, until Maria took the stage. She was extraordinarily beautiful and had the best voice I had ever heard live. She glided about the stage while the other actors stumbled through their lines just trying to keep up. She easily looked like she belonged on Broadway, especially next to that hopeless bunch. She was...Rachel Berry?

I couldn't believe my eyes. It took me a while to realize who I was looking at because I had only ever seen her in a cross-country uniform, but it was definitely Rachel Berry. It was amazing that the girl could even stand, let alone perform an entire play just a few hours after a race like that. My legs were aching just sitting in the audience. How could she be so talented in two such highly unrelated things? It made me hate her all over again.

She approached the stage exactly the same way she approached the race. She was fierce. She gave it everything she had with no abandon. The audience was sparsely populated but if you looked at just her, she looked like she was singing to thousands. I couldn't imagine how anyone could take themselves so seriously in such a minor (and horrendous) production, but she walked that stage like she was performing for a sold-out Broadway crowd.

The very last person I had wanted to run into that night was Rachel Berry, but if I left in the middle of the play she would have definitely seen me. My only choice was to sink low in my seat and make a quick escape during the bustle at the end. She never lost focus the entire play - except once. Although I had been desperately trying to avoid it, there was a split second when we made eye contact. Her face quickly switched to a look of surprise, then I'm almost certain I saw a sparkle in her eye and the hint of a smile. I could have died of embarrassment.

After that, I had no choice but to say hello to her after the play. Since she had seen me, if I had left without saying anything I would have looked like a complete coward. I decided I would quickly compliment her on a great show and then make up some excuse that would allow me to leave the conversation as soon as possible.

After the curtain call, I waited a couple of minutes as the few people who stayed to the end made their way out of the theatre. I didn't have to wait long before Rachel Berry came skipping over to me, smiling broadly. I still couldn't fathom where this girl got all of her energy.

"Quinn! What a pleasant surprise to see you here! Did you enjoy the performance? I didn't know that you were into theatre too! Do you act? Or sing? Here, come with me backstage so we can talk properly!"

I couldn't decide which of her questions to answer first, so I answered none of them. "Actually, I really have to get going. It's getting kind of late and I'm really tired from the race and everything...:

"Quinn, it's Saturday night! You can afford to stay out a little late," she replied, grabbing my hand and dragging me down the aisle.

"Okay, well I have to leave soon, my parents are expecting me. I can't believe you did all this after the race today. I can barely stand," I said, realizing that leaving wasn't going to be as easy as I had planned.

"Well, this is the only show that fell on the same day as a race, so it's been manageable. Here, come this way." She gave my hand another tug and pulled me backstage. There were a few other people that I recognized as actors from the show milling around. "We have ice cream!" she exclaimed, eyes wide in excitement. She let go of my hand as she started scooping some vanilla ice-cream into a bowl. "Technically, it's supposed to be just for the actors and stage crew, but I'm sure I can sneak you some," she said, winking at me.

Ice cream. Right. The last thing that I needed right now was ice cream. I needed to get home, get a good night's sleep and get up early tomorrow for a good workout. "I really do need to go," I replied, a little cooler this time to get across that I meant it. "And I'm trying to stay away from that kind of stuff anyways."

"Quinn, if there's ever a time to indulge, it's after you've run a five thousand meter race. Are you surrrrreee you don't wan't some," she drawled, dangling a spoonful of her sundae around my face."

The smell of hot fudge nearly knocked me over. It had always been one of my weaknesses. I was incredibly close to giving in, but I knew that if I tried even a little bit I wouldn't be able to stop and I would wind up having way too much. I needed to get back on track. I needed to leave.

"I'm actually lactose intolerant." She furrowed her eyebrows questionably. "I'll see you at the next race," I said, turning to leave. I think she mumbled a good-bye through a mouthful of ice-cream but I was already stalking off towards the exit.

The entire car ride home, I was fuming. I poured all the little energy I had left into hating her. I hated her because I couldn't figure her out. Up until that point, that was how I beat people. I would figure them out, discover their weaknesses and use that to destroy them. But Rachel Berry was impossible to comprehend. How could she have beaten me with absolutely no experience when I've been training and racing for years? I decided I would just have to work harder. I could push hard enough to beat her and then I would be back on top again.

As I pulled into my driveway, I prayed that my parents would be asleep. I didn't have it in me to deal with my father tonight. I looked up into the windows and didn't see any lights on. It was the best news I had gotten all day. I let out a long sigh and tiptoed up to my room.

As I was in my bathroom getting ready for bed, I saw a scale on the floor by the door. A present from my mom, most likely. I rolled my eyes and kept brushing my teeth. Typical. I told myself I wouldn't even use it. I didn't need to go down _that _road. I finished up and got into bed, wanting nothing more than to fall into a deep, dreamless sleep. I relaxed into the mattress and closed my eyes, but all I saw was that scale. I couldn't stop thinking about it. I wanted to know and I didn't all at the same time.

Over the years teachers and coaches had always told me that I didn't need to worry about the number because girls my age, especially runners, get too caught up in that. They said if I just ate healthy foods and kept up the running, everything would stay balanced. But was that really enough? I beat all of the runners in Ohio (except Rachel Berry), but I still hadn't made a decent splash on the national scene yet.

I knew I wouldn't get to sleep until I settled this in my mind. I thought, just checking, just once wouldn't hurt. I would just check that I hadn't gained too much weight since freshman year and then tomorrow I would demand that my mother take the scale back. I couldn't even remember the last time I had weighed myself, so it was about time anyways. I got out of bed, stumbled back into my bathroom and stepped onto the scale.


End file.
